


Do You Hear That Sound?

by orphan_account



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Author Projecting His Shit, But so is everyone else, Everything Hurts, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Super fucking dark, Tags May Change, This is really really bad just for everyone, and im not very good at writing angst, anyway here are your tags, im sad, so let's just hope it's good, they all live in a foster house, with like no adult supervision
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crutchie Morris is just straight vibing, until he's not anymore. After the Delanceys cross a line no one even considered could be crossed, his world crumbles, and there's no way out.
Relationships: I'll fill in relationships later
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this writing is really really bad, I'm really tired. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> !!trigger warning for attempted sexual assault in this chapter, some characters are absolute shitbags and im sorry!!

"Where d'ya think you're going, crip?"

Crutchie sighed and turned around. These fucking clowns.

"Uh, home?"

"Home?" Oscar asked in mock confusion. "Oh, you mean the foster house!"

Morris laughed. "Yeah, the isle of misfit boys!" He smirked at his own less-than-mediocre joke, until Oscar shot him a disappointed glare and his smile melted. He flashed Oscar a hurt kind of look, and Oscar just frowned and shook his head. 

Crutchie rolled his eyes and kept walking, the sound of his crutch clacking on the pavement trumping all other noises. Just another half mile. Like 15 minutes of walking. He thought the Delanceys had forgotten about him– until he felt someone suddenly yank his crutch away from him from behind. 

Before he knew it he was on the ground, the heels of his hands scraped from landing on the pavement. He turned around and looked up at Oscar and Morris. 

"Are you kidding? Could you give that back?" Crutchie knew they wouldn't, but he held out his hand for it anyway. Neither Oscar or Morris moved. "Come on, are you seriously that immature?" He knew he was treading thin ice to have any sort of tone with these two. They were three years older than him, two times stronger, and like one whole foot taller. 

Morris's eyes widened in overly exaggerated fake sympathy. "Oh, sure, I'm sorry!" He grabbed Crutchie's hand and lifted him back to his feet, and then Oscar, sporting some unreadable expression, handed him his crutch. 

Crutchie didn't trust it. He knew not to by now. So he started to limp away as quickly as he could, still feeling their eyes on his back. 

He knew they wouldn't leave him alone. But after more than 5 minutes of walking, with nothing bad happening, he couldn't help but feel himself let his guard down. It'd been a long time, the sun was sinking on the horizon, they'd probably just gone home. 

He didn't start to relax, though, until he could see the outline of the home against the setting sun. He allowed himself to slow down. Maybe... maybe the Delanceys had actually chosen to let him go this time? It was highly unlikely. But he stopped himself from worrying, he knew it was all because of his anxiety, and he focused on the colors of the setting sun. Orange and red and gold– Jack would love to see this. He'd probably take a picture of it and add it to his album of pretty things to paint later. The thought made Crutchie smile, and he felt carefree. 

Until he felt a foot hit the back of his bad leg, right at the knee, and he went down with a yelp. His crutch clattered next to him as he rolled over and looked up to see who'd kicked him. Even though he figured he knew. 

And he was right. Standing over him, laughing, were none other than Oscar and Morris Delancey. Who hadn't just given up and gone home. 

"What the f-" he was going to yell, but was interrupted when Oscar stepped forward, lifted his knee, and brought his foot down hard on Crutchie's bad leg. He let out a scream of pain, not caring if people heard– in fact, hoping people _would_ hear. And suddenly the sky seemed a lot less pretty. 

They were laughing. Crutchie pulled his calf up to his chest, it hurt, everything hurt on his fucking leg. It always hurt, but now it _hurt_. It fucking–

"What's the matter? You trip?" Morris asked, again with the most condescending fake concern he'd ever heard. 

"You– th–" His breathing was too quick. His attempts at speaking we're cut short by a swift kick to the side, delivered by Morris. Crutchie rolled slightly to the side, his leg sprawling back out, and was kicked again, this time in the back of the neck. 

His head jolted forward with a sickening crack from his neck. All he could feel was pain. Crutchie pulled his legs to his chest, tried to curl into a ball like he had so many times in his childhood, but someone grabbed his bad leg and pulled it– no, pulled _him_. He was being dragged by his bad leg somewhere.

 _Oh my god, this is where I die, isn't it?_ Fuck, he couldn't even say goodbye to anyone, but he knew it was bound to happen eventually. All he could really process was the pain, oh my god, it felt like his leg was on fucking fire, and he knew he was gonna have a nasty bruise on his side and back– if he lived. He couldn't see anything through the blur of tears in his eyes, but he did notice the change in lighting. It was darker. Too dark. Menacingly dark. 

The fire in his leg suddenly seemed to extinguish, leaving an awful ache throughout the whole thing. Crutchie squeezed his eyes shut, felt the tears squeeze out. When he blinked them back open, he could see he was right in the alley next to where he'd been walking. Of fucking course. How stupid was he to walk right past the obvious easiest place to jump someone? He could see the silhouette of one of the boys –probably Morris– standing right outside the alley and lighting a cigarette. Guarding. They'd _planned_ this!

Crutchie felt himself being pulled up by the front of his shirt, finding himself eye to eye with Oscar, who was crouching over his torso. Crutchie was tempted to spit right in his face, but was cut off by Oscar touching his cheek.

He flinched, his brain making him register it as a slap, but Oscar pulled him up a bit closer by the front of his shirt with one arm. He was brushing his cheek gently with the back of his other hand. It made Crutchie shudder and jerk his head back in disgust, but Oscar grabbed him by the chin and pulled his face back closer. He held him there for a second. 

"So pretty..." Oscar murmured, before letting go and backhanding him across the cheek. Crutchie's head jerked to the side and he gasped from the sting. He lifted his hand to his cheek, but found his arm being roughly grabbed and yanked back down next to him on the pavement. Oscar's hand still had a death grip on his shirt, keeping his back from touching the ground. 

Crutchie felt tears welling in his eyes again, but quickly blinked them away. He felt the hand let go of his shirt, and he fell back, his head hitting the concrete, hard. And he didn't even try to stop it, just let himself drop. Until he remembered the situation and tried to pull himself back up. It was basically a sit-up, but it _hurt._ So he gave up and just lay there on the ground, letting his eyes close.

He'd just stay here until Oscar left. Good plan. Stay safe by doing nothing. 

His eyes shot back open when he heard one sound. A sound that he'd heard so much in the past. The sound that always told you something bad was going to happen, no excuses. It made him jolt, his neck twitching, but he couldn't move– it hurt too much. He was stuck. 

It was the sound of a belt unbuckling.

He looked all the way up at Oscar's face, a look of concentration and full-on malice. No, no no, no, no, no, no!

Oscar looked down at Crutchie on the ground, and they made eye contact for a second, Crutchie's eyes pain-filled and pleading. And then Oscar pulled his belt out of the loops, and his gaze hardened. Crutchie cringed and looked down, before rolling over and trying to just crawl away. But crawling without using one leg is a lot harder than it looks. He barely got three feet before he felt the collar of his shirt being yanked back, and he choked and stopped. He felt himself being flipped back over and caught eye contact with Oscar, who was standing over him. 

"Aww..." Oscar quietly cooed. It made Crutchie's skin crawl, it just felt disgusting. And Oscar could tell. He grabbed Crutchie by the shoulders and roughly yanked him up, kicking his leg again, and pulling him up into a semi-standing position. He pushed Crutchie into the alley wall, still by the shoulders, and Crutchie felt helpless. He– didn't know what to do. So he did what any normal person would do, and followed his impulses from before. He spit, right in Oscar's face. And it made that satisfying _plack!_ sound that told him his target had been hit. 

Oscar yelped in disgust and anger, and let go of Crutchie. He let him fall to the ground. Crutchie was still slumped against the wall, and he had barely any time to celebrate his one little victory before receiving a hard kick in the stomach. Oscar crouched down, his eyes full of venom, and punched Crutchie right below his left eye. He punched again, mid-cheek, then again, and again, and Crutchie's head was against the wall, and Oscar was crouching on Crutchie's legs, and he couldn't dodge, he really had no escape, and he regretted spitting, and _oh my god, why hadn't Oscar just killed him already_ –

And then the punches stopped. 

Oscar grabbed his chin, the same way as before, but harder. Hard enough to leave bruises. He pulled Crutchie's face toward him, and then Oscar's lips were on his own, his tongue forcing its way down Crutchie's throat. It was disgusting, it made Crutchie want to choke, to gag– he could feel Oscar get rougher with whatever this was– a kiss? No. 

Suddenly Crutchie felt Oscar grab at his crotch, cupping at him through his pants. He tried to thrash his way out of Oscar's grip – _oh my god, this couldn't be happening, there's no way this is happening_ – but Oscar elbowed his already-bruised stomach, forcing him to stop. Oscar disconnected their lips, looked down, and found Crutchie's fly, and Crutchie heard the sickening sound of the unzipping, before he felt his pants being tugged off. He let out a terrified squeak, and they were now halfway down his thighs, and he could feel Oscar's other hand palming at him through his boxers, and he didn't know what to do, he tried to struggle, it was too much, the pants were down to below his knees, and Oscar was getting rougher, more impatient, and finally Crutchie's pants were down to his ankles, and Oscar hooked his thumbs under Crutchie's waistband, and it was too much, and Crutchie tried to get out of Oscar's grip, and Crutchie tried to kick Oscar away, and Oscar put his full weight on Crutchie's legs and began to pull his boxers down, and Crutchie squeezed his eyes shut, and it was all too–

When suddenly Oscar just... stopped. Crutchie felt Oscar move away from him, and he curled his legs to his chest, feeling so fucking exposed. He hugged his legs to his chest, and fell sideways, and he'd never felt more small in his life. Over the ringing in his ears, he could hear Oscar– yelling? No, that's not it. He didn't care anyway. He started to sob. 

Crutchie didn't know how long he lay there in a fetal position, sobbing, not paying any attention to the world around him, before he felt someone grab him. He flinched and let out a scream-cry-yelp sound, and curled up tighter. He knew it was Oscar, he knew what Oscar wanted, he- he–

He felt someone pull him into a hug. Wh- that's–

And he felt himself involuntarily relax. 

Crutchie felt someone murmur something in his ear, their warm breath gently brushing up against it, and it sent chills up his spine, oh my god, it was happening again, and he felt like he was suffocating, he was being held so tight, _too_ tight, and it was all a distraction, he heard the sound of that belt unbuckling echo in his head, getting louder and _louder_ –

He shoved whoever was holding him away with all his strength, heard himself scream, but it all felt unreal. He tried to move in any direction away from this person, found himself crawling right on his bad leg, and the pain made him sick, it was too much, it felt unreal, it made him feel blinded, and a wave of nausea hit him harder than Oscar just had, rolling from his stomach, up–

And he stopped and suddenly he was emptying the contents of his stomach right in front of him on the pavement. It burned his throat– he hadn't eaten much that day. And the world started to fade out. Was he going to die?

But he couldn't even finish that thought before everything turned to black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes, yikes yikes yikes


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different POV, we understand what's up and what happened at the end of chapter 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, thanks for reading, by the way.
> 
> !!!!right now the flow of the story is Not Very Good™, but i absolutely promise it gets better after this chapter. the first two were weird and clunky because that was when i was writing with no idea what to say. now, we cool. ive got it all mapped out. stick around, if you want to!!!!

Jack was having a good day. He got a B+ on that math test he was sure he'd fail, there were no problems with the Delanceys whatsoever, and he got the chance to cash his check. Plus, there was the secondhand happiness, like when Romeo got that job he'd really needed at some coffee shop, Les won some online giveaway for some game, Race got an A+ on a history test for the first time in, like, ever, etc. Jack just couldn't help but feel proud of his family. 

But something was off. 

Crutchie had been planning on walking home after his play rehearsal, and Jack figured it'd be fine. It usually was, the newsies walked home all the time. And it was only like a mile, maybe 20 minutes of walking. 

But it was already 6:47, and his practice had ended at 6, so you can see why Jack was a bit worried. Like, he knew Crutchie was bound to take a bit longer because of his leg, plus there were some early winter snow/ice patches everywhere, but something still felt wrong. 

So Jack did what he normally did when he felt anxious. He went up to the roof and watched all the tiny cars going home from work, though no cars usually came on the street closest to the home. But it was okay. It was peaceful. And he watched the sunset, which was one of the most beautiful ones he'd seen all year. He thought of taking a picture, but he'd left his phone on his bed and really didn't want to go get it. Take his word for it, though, it was beautiful. Classic yellow, orange, and red, but then it faded into a canvas of magentas and violets. Shit, maybe he should get his phone. Or he could just remember it and visualize it later. He kept watching as the sun sank deeper, it was just so be–

His thoughts were cut off by a faint scream from the distance. A familiar scream. He looked at the ground and saw, so incredibly close but so far, three figures. Two standing, one on the ground. And he didn't need to look closer to know–

_Fuck._

It was Crutchie on the ground. Of course, it was fucking Crutchie, on the ground, and– who? Oscar and Morris? Is that why they were so _quiet_ today?? He watched as one of the figures kicked him, and then again, as Crutchie tried to curl in on himself, and Jack was stuck in place. He couldn't move. And then one of the figures grabbed Crutchie's leg -his bad leg- and Jack snapped back into his full state of mind. 

He immediately ran to the fire escape, scrambled down the stairs until he reached the window of his bedroom. And of course it was empty, he– didn't know what to do–

Okay. 

He did what any normal person would do in that situation, and started screaming for Specs and Race. Still screaming as he ran to the common area. 

Race looked up from where he was teaching some of the younger kids slapjack, saw Jack's face, and excused himself immediately. 

He trotted over to Jack. "What's up?"

Jack waved his hands frantically, effectively silencing him. "Find Specs. Now. It's Crutchie." 

Race didn't need to hear anything more, he sprinted to the kitchen, grabbed Specs by the forearm, and ran back to Jack with a confused Specs in tow. 

Specs just looked confused and concerned, which he masked with confusion. "What's going on?"

Jack's face was red, and he choked out "No time, it's Crutchie, we gotta _go_."

And they ran. 

They ran out the door to the home, down the street, Race and Specs just following Jack as he made a mad dash to where he'd seen Crutchie. But when they arrived, there was no one there. 

"No, they– I swear, I saw–" Jack stumbled over his words. "No, Crutchie was right here! And the Delanceys, and..."

Race put his hand on Jack's back. "Jack, you sure you didn't see someone else?"

Jack brushed Race's hand away. "I think I'd know if I saw someone else, you fucking d–" but before he could finish his sentence, he looked over and saw. The alley. The really dark and shady alley that Jack specifically told every young Newsie not to hang around. Right outside it, a distracted looking Morris smoking a cigarette. 

Specs tapped Race's shoulder and pointed at where Jack was staring. Race fell silent. And Jack, very very casually, charged over to where Morris was standing. And like a very, very civilized human being, punched him so hard he fell back against the brick wall. He pointed to Specs and Race as if to say "hey, beat this bitch's ass, okay?"

Jack stepped into the shadow of the alley, and his world's palate instantly changed. He looked around and saw something a lot different than a simple Oscar beating up Crutchie that he'd had to deal with happening to several other newsies in the past.

He saw Oscar crouching atop Crutchie's pale figure, Crutchie trying to struggle out of the place he was in, but– but Oscar was sitting _on_ his legs– and his legs were– what the fuck–

Where were his _pants_??

And then he realized what was going on. Holy _fuck_. He was stuck in place again. Fucking again. Why did this always fucking happen? He tried to yell something, but the words stuck in his throat, and he watched as Oscar grabbed at Crutchie's boxers, and Crutchie thrashed and tried to kick Oscar off of him– but there was a shift and then Crutchie wasn't moving at all, it looked like he was being held down harder, and then Oscar started to pull them down, and that was when Jack's feet started moving. Are you fucking kidding?

Jack Charged forward yet again, grabbed the back of Oscar's shirt, and ripped him away from Crutchie, before landing a good punch right on Oscar's nose. Oscar seemed stunned for a second, dazed and/or confused, and Jack did something he probably shouldn't have. 

He kneed Oscar, right in the balls, with all the strength he could summon in the moment. 

Oscar howled in pain, falling to the ground, and that was when Specs and Race came rushing over. They looked at Jack in full confusion, looking concerned as fuck, but Jack simply pointed at Crutchie, who was now curled in a ball on the ground shaking like a leaf. 

Jack turned his attention back to Oscar, who was writhing on the ground. He kicked him in the stomach. "You– fucking–"

He kicked him in the nuts again, because why the fuck not. "How much of a fucking monster are you?" 

And he remembered all the stuff Crutchie had told him about his growing up and such. How fucked his life had been. 

And that was when Jack finally turned his full attention to Crutchie. His shirt was still on, but his pants weren't, and his underwear was pulled halfway down. He hadn't even tried to fix it. And he was just lying on the ground, hugging his knees and sobbing. 

And Jack had never felt more like a failure. 

He could hear Specs on the phone. "Hello? Yeah, um, I need you to keep the other kids out of the walk-in area. We're having a problem, I can fill you in later." And he walked away. 

Race tried to grab Crutchie's shoulder, which was a bad move, and it just caused him to let out a horrifying shriek and curl up smaller. It was like he was trying to make himself so small he just shrinks out of existence. And Jack stared at this boy who was probably fucking terrified. 

Jack knelt down and, without thinking about it, scooped Crutchie up into a big hug. He felt so cold, and was shaking so hard it was like he was one of those vibrating baby toys. But he could feel Crutchie become less tense in his arms. 

"You're safe, okay? We're gonna bring you home," Jack said quietly, murmuring it into his right ear. 

It seemed to flip a switch. 

Crutchie jerked his head to the other side and tensed back up, squirming in Jack's grasp, before he exploded, shoving Jack away and trying to scramble in the other direction. Jack fell backward, and Race said something about how whispering in his ear in this situation was probably a really bad idea. Jack just stood back up and brushed himself off. 

He looked at Race, feeling so, so tired. "Race, you know what just happened."

Race looked down, nodding. "He... Yeah, I know what happened." He looked back up at Jack. "What do we do?"

"I... really don't kn–" Jack was cut off by the sound of Crutchie vomiting on the pavement a few feet away. They both looked over and watched Crutchie as he tried to move, and passed out right there. 

"Shit!"

Race and Jack ran over to Crutchie, and Jack brushed the hair out of his face, frowning. And he'd never felt more hopeless in his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, if you like or dislike this story, leave a comment and let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what happened after? well, a lot of stuff, but this is the first little bit. and when i say little, i mean LITTLE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey soooo.. this was intended to just be a little story, just because one night i was feeling really super stressed and started writing, projecting, all that shit. 
> 
> but uhhh now i've written 8 chapters, and i can tell you now, this is going to be a whole big long story and dammit it will have a happy ending 
> 
> so don't give up! it's gonna be a bumpy road.

Jack, Specs, and Race couldn't carry Crutchie without hurting him worse, so Specs took it into his hands to text Finch to bring his car, and then they were on their way back to the home. They filled a confused Finch on what happened, and Jack had Finch and Race make sure the coast was clear while he and Specs got Crutchie into Jack's bedroom. Jack, as the oldest kid, was the only one with his own room, so it was kind of a no-brainer. Then Jack called Specs, Race, and Finch into the kitchen to discuss what had happened. 

Race closed the kitchen door, and they all sat around the island. Silent.

Finch was the first to speak, breaking the silence abruptly. "So what the fuck do we do now?"

Jack shot him a look. But Specs spoke before he could say anything. "Well, we gotta look at his injuries, obviously. And then we'll figure out what to do next."

"How's we gonna do that without waking him up?" Race asked. 

"We's gonna wait till he wakes up, dumbass," Finch said like it was obvious. 

"And how's we gonna make him _let_ us look at him?" Race asked in response. 

Nobody answered. Everyone looked at Jack, who'd been silent for a while. 

"Whattaya thinkin', Jack?" Race quietly inquired. 

"I'm thinkin'..." Jack was still staring at the countertop, not looking at anyone. "He's just a fucking kid. He's 15. And that _asshole_ was just gonna..." He trailed off, but everyone understood the unspoken words. 

"Yeah..." said Specs, quieter than anyone else. 

"I's just glad we found him when we did, right?" Race added. 

"And what if we didn't?" Jack snapped. "What if we didn't notice Morris in the alley, and we just went home? He could be... He could still be out there, with Oscar doing _god knows what_ to him. Which we know would have happened if we didn't find him in time. We _know_ it." Jack was being a lot louder now than he meant to be. "And– and you guys know how fucked up his childhood was! We all know! This just– this doesn't make any fucking sense! If we hadn't found him when we did–"

"But we did. We did find him when we did, so there's no reason for you to be all freakin' out about it," Specs cut in, his voice sharp. Finch nodded. 

"Not the point. Sorry," Jack said, "Anyway, Specs, you always fix us up, so you can tell how banged up he is. Finch, you can help clean him up, right?"

Finch shrugged. "I guess.."

Jack sighed. "Okay, good. We'll figure this out, guys. It'll be fine."

But really, even he didn't fully believe it. And honestly, he probably never would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave comments or whatever, my validation-seeking heart runs on 'em.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie wakes up. Oof's ensue.

Crutchie woke up gasping, not knowing where he was. He was in a bed, blankets around him, trapping him. He was tangled, and he hated it, and he didn't know what was going on as he tried to get himself free, but the blankets were everywhere, suffocating. He let out a strangled cry and rolled off the mattress. And then he was free. And he realized he was in Jack's bedroom. Alone. 

Crutchie forced himself to take a painful breath. He tried to yell for Jack, but all that came out was a strangled, hoarse... noise. He cleared his throat and tried again. 

"J– Jack?!" It was dark in the room, and he looked at the clock, which said 8:06. He called out again. "Jack!"

He couldn't feel his leg, and his stomach and side hurt whenever he tried to speak. He reached up and touched his face, felt the dried blood on his cheek. 

Crutchie tried again, even louder. "Ja–"

The name was cut off by a harsh coughing fit, one that hurt like fucking hell. He didn't know what to do. So he curled in on himself right there, a ball of pure pain. But he heard the door open, and looked up to see Jack, Specs, Race, and Finch standing there. 

Jack nodded to the other three, and he and Race walked over to Crutchie, while Specs and Finch seemed to disappear. 

Jack was speaking softly, and that was when Crutchie started to tune in on his words. "–were just waiting till you woke up. We need to look and see what they did to you, okay?" Crutchie tensed, his breath catching. 

Race cut in. "It's gonna be super uncomfortable, but all you need to do is take off your shirt so we can see your stomach and such."

"It'll be fine though," said Jack. "You trust us, right?"

Crutchie started his eyes from Jack to Race, feeling so incredibly overwhelmed. He really didn't want to take his shirt off, just in case of, well, anything. Don't get him wrong, he did trust them. But he trusted a lot of people who... took advantage. 

But Race and Jack weren't like that, obviously. 

He nodded. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, keeping his eyes glued to Jack and Race as he pulled it over his head. 

Crutchie heard Jack suck in a gasp, and Race's jaw dropped. 

"Oh my _god_ ," Race muttered. 

Crutchie looked down and immediately felt sick. His stomach and right side were bruised, badly. And his ribcage area was swollen, an awful purplish red. He tilted his stiff neck from side to side, and saw red marks where Oscar had grabbed his shoulders. He looked back up at Jack and Race, who were just silently staring at his entire torso. 

And he was getting even more uncomfortable every second, crossing his arms over his chest. That was when Jack looked up at his face. Crutchie noticed tears in his eyes. He looked down. He felt ashamed, fucking weak, like the most useless kid in the world. 

"I'm sorry," He said, barely audible. 

Race's eyes widened. "The fuck are _you_ sorry for? You didn't do anything wrong."

Crutchie looked back down. 

He heard footsteps, most likely of Specs and Finch, and looked back up. Finch was in front, walking into the room with a giant bowl that had some stuff in it. The "first aid bowl," as everyone called it. 

"So, we have everything we need, we're just gonna clean you up a bit, and– holy _shit_!" He stopped as soon as he saw Crutchie in his awful state.

Specs hit the back of his neck. "Shut up, it ain't that bad."

"Yes it is, don't lie," said Race. 

"You're not helping," Specs snapped, shooting him a look. 

Crutchie felt so incredibly overwhelmed. It was all so much going on, and it was dark, and cramped– everyone was standing around him and he didn't like it. 

"Could, um, could someone turn on a light?" He asked, still so quietly. 

Finch turned and flipped the switch, and then Crutchie could see. 

Specs say on the bed and patted the space next to him. "Up, Crutch, I gotta make sure you didn't break a rib."

Crutchie frowned. "Okay..."

He turned around and used the bed as a grip to help him stand, pulling himself up. His arms were sore. He could see fingerprint marks on his forearm where Oscar had grabbed him, and he shuddered. 

As he got settled, sitting down on the bed as comfortably as he could, anyway, Race clicked his tongue. 

"So..." He began, awkwardly. "What happened?"

Crutchie flinched and looked up at him. "I don't know."

He obviously did know. But every time he'd caught himself thinking about it, he'd shut it down as quick as possible. He didn't want to have to deal with that. Even though it was less than two hours ago. He didn't want to think about it, because then it became more _real_ , and it was already real enough.

But when Race asked him that, it did come back, all of it. He sat there as everything rushed into his head at once –the kicking, dragging, spitting, punching, pulling, grabbing– and suddenly he felt incredibly dizzy. He sat there and remembered everything that has just happened but felt so long ago. And he started to speak without thinking about it. 

"I don't know, I was– uh, I was walking home, and–" He suddenly jolted when Specs touched his ribcage area with all the bruises. Dear god, that was fucking terrifying. And it hurt like hell, too. 

Specs looked up at him. "Sorry," he said, but there was nothing behind it and he continued feeling his ribcage like it was nothing. "I don't think they're broken, probably just bruised. You'll be fine."

"Thanks," Crutchie said, voice void of emotion. "So, um, anyway..."

He was cut off yet again when Finch pressed a cold wet washcloth to his face and started wiping at the blood. 

"I'm just... I'm gonna be quiet while you do this," he said. He was so, so tired, he just wanted to go to sleep. So he closed his eyes right there as the coolness of the cloth disappeared. His eyes shot back open, however, when he felt a hand on his face, rubbing something in. And he could feel Oscar's hand, brushing his cheek softly, and flinched away. "Please don't–"

He stopped when he realized it was just Finch. Obviously. And he looked down, his face hot. 

"Crutchie, I need to put this ointment there or you'll get an infection," Finch's voice said gently. 

"Okay, I'm sorry." 

Finch resumed, and Crutchie squirmed in his seat. He didn't like this, not at all. Squeezing his eyes shut, he just hoped this would pass quickly. He allowed the words around him to blur together, the pain from his wounds to melt away, he let himself separate from his surroundings, and he felt... fine. 

Until he felt someone jab his shoulder. "Crutchie!" Jack snapped. Not a mean snap. But like he'd been trying to get his attention for a minute. Crutchie opened his eyes. 

"Don't go fallin' asleep on us," Race said. 

Crutchie frowned. He was getting a headache. "What?"

Specs cleared his throat. "Crutchie, you need to tell the police. Tell _someone._ We can't just keep this a secret."

Crutchie looked at him, silent. He shook his head. "No."

"What do you mean, 'no?' Crutch, this is a serious–"

"I know it's serious, I ain't stupid," he snapped. "I just– I don't..." He trailed off. What was he going to say? 'Oh, I don't _want_ to.' It's stupid. 

"I'll just..." Just _what_? "I don't know!"

"Okay, okay," Specs said, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

"No, you're gonna report it," Jack said, "just not right now."

And Crutchie looked down at him. "No, Jack, I'm not."

"No, you're going to, this ain't just something you can ignore, you-"

"Jack, please, you don't get it, it's–"

"Crutchie, listen to me! You ain't just gonna leave it! I'm not saying you have to do it right now, but you're gonna report it! You can't just let that _asshole_ off that eas–"

"No!" Crutchie yelled. And Jack fell silent. 

" _Why_?" he asked, quietly. 

"He's... I don't know, he's..." Crutchie took a breath. This was too much. "It's not..."

Everyone was staring at him. Too much. He could feel himself start to speak, but he had no idea what he was going to say. 

"I don't want to– deal with it! It'll be fine, right? He ain't gonna bother me anymore, this was just..." He squeezed his eyes shut when he remembered the feeling of Oscar on him, holding him down, and how utterly helpless he was. "We'll figure it out."

Jack stood up, and Crutchie tensed. But then he turned around. As he left the room, Crutchie could hear him mumble something to Race, who nodded. And the room was silent. 

And he didn't know what to say. He didn't know why he hated the idea of telling the police. But–

 _God_ , he didn't want to deal with the police. 

He could just... forget. 

He cringed as he felt the memory of Oscar touching him. 

He could try. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeye, two-chapter day bay-beeeeeeee
> 
> also, look, i know. i start sentences with "he" way too much. and so far there's no plot, just a bit of unnecessary filler. 
> 
> cool it! next chapter, the plot thickens from the spaghetti noodle it currently is. just... wait for it, i guess.


	5. I'm a terrible terrible trash human

i'm not continuing this story. 

i'm sorry !!! 

this was just originally me finding an outlet for some crazy shit that happened, but then i don't like writing about it anymore because uhhh yikes 

i'm sorry. 

i'll probably write more in the future, because i like writing, and i'm trying to get better at it, just not with this story. 

have some good days 

-me


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